A Collection of 100 word Drabbles
by tjbaby
Summary: Drabbles, as inspiration strikes me...
1. 3 x 100 words drabbles

Rating: M to be safe  
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Summit and Stephenie Meyer do, no money being made off this. This story mine. Characters of Twilight and associated - not mine. Don't sue.

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100 words: Angst, inspired by Queens of the Stone Age: "Into the Fade"

You drive down the empty road, trees blindly flashing by as you hurtle towards the upcoming curve. Tires sing on the wet tarmac, occasionally slipping, losing their grip upon the slick surface. Tears fall in rapid streams, blurring your vision and in one angry swipe, you wipe them away. Approaching the corner, you realise with growing horror that you won't make it. Your foot punches down toward the floor, the car swerving wildly and it is then you realise the fight with him wasn't worth it.

As a large tree looms frighteningly in your windshield, you whisper, "It's not fair."

* * *

100 words: Fluff, inspired by Savage Garden "Truly, Madly, Deeply"

Balmy breezes, white sands. Golden sunlight kisses your skin, blue ocean swirls over your feet. You squint towards the horizon - your hand offering shade as you gaze searchingly over the calm, inviting waters. Arms grasp you from behind, gripping your waist and you squeal as they swing you high and around. Laughing, you lean into his embrace and accept his tender kiss, his warm mouth pressing softly against yours.

"My wife," he murmurs against your lips. Smiling, you pull back to stare into his eyes. Yes, your husband. For richer or poorer. For better or worse. Together. Now. For always.

* * *

100 Words: Sensuality, inspired by Marcy Playground "Comin' Up from Behind"

He sits up to look at you as you glide sinuously from the small gap in the velvet curtains. Your bare leg peeks out, enticingly leading the way. Eyes fasten on your soft inner thigh, irises dark with desire. You sashay, slowly trailing the heavy material behind you, the corner of your lips curling in a kittenish invitation as you float towards his seat.

Your lips part.

His eyes watch your tongue snaking out to glide along your lower lip. You shiver in guilty anticipation, the unfurling of the smoke in the club like your blatant desire; hot, sensual...erotic.


	2. Word prompt: Fear

Rating: M to be safe  
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Summit and Stephenie Meyer do, no money being made off this. This story mine. Characters of Twilight and associated - not mine. Don't sue.

* * *

100 Words: Fear, inspired by Skillet "This is the Last Night"

Hot tears cascade down your face as you turn and run. Stumbling fearfully, you avoid the headlong crash into the bodies having fun. _Hurry!_ Your fevered brain bids. _Hurry!_

"Run, baby, run..." the man's voice taunts from behind, their slow, heavy footsteps in pursuit.

You sprint; fervently praying; seeking sanctuary, protection, and absolution in labouring desperation. Your breath catches as you fall. Stars blind you as your head impacts hard upon the granite floor. Gasping, sucking in breath, like a deer in headlights, you can only stare at the heavy combat boots sauntering towards you.

"As if you could outrun me..."


	3. Unnamed 3

Rating: M to be safe  
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Summit and Stephenie Meyer do, no money being made off this. This story mine. Characters of Twilight and associated - not mine. Don't sue.

* * *

They met while the sun shone crystalline upon the nearby lake-water, her eyes puffy from tears that left tracks down her pretty face, him glaring at her from behind smoky glass - shades leaving her imagination to run riot as to his thoughts. His lips twisted into a sneer.

"You weren't worthy of her."

Like shards of jagged glass, his words cut cruelly through her chest, and her already broken heart twisted at his contempt and derision.

"Please..." she began brokenly, her hand reaching out to his lean, taut figure; to offer and find comfort, but he stepped away.

"Bitch." 


	4. Word prompt: Butterscotch

Drabble as prompted by tuesdaymidnight on Twitter

Word: Butterscotch Genre: Humor

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It is often said that you can't teach an old dog new tricks. They obviously have never been to Singapore. Obstinately, I crammed my hat on my head, blew errant strands of hair out of my eyes and stiffened my back.

Jamming my foot into the stupid little metal thing, I hoisted myself into the butterscotch saddle. I yanked on the reins. "Go." I waited. "Move."

The whole world moved. I heard laughter behind me.

"Woah! Woah! Woah! Stop horsey!"

It stopped.

I didn't.

Glaring at the boots in front of me, I muttered, "Stupid horse. Just like your master."


	5. Word prompt: Frost

Drabble as prompted by **evieeden** on Twitter

Word: Frost Genre: desperation and/or romance

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The brittle grass snapped beneath my ill shod feet as I travelled through the wintry field. Jack Frost had made his presence known. My beloved space was covered with a blanket of white minute icicles that only faeries would be threatened by. Rubbing wearily at my face I looked up, my eyes squinting as sunrise approached. Wan rays of light filtered through murky clouds lingering in the early morning sky, midnight blue giving way to the aquamarine of the new day. Pain scorched my skin. Slowly, I raised my arms to its blessed embrace. Take me. Free me. Love me.


	6. Word prompt: Suck

Drabble as prompted by vampthenewblack on Twitter

Word: suck Genre: sci-fi.

* * *

I crouched down, taking my bearings. The figure ahead seemed to be looking at me, but I hoped vehemently that it could not see me.

I was fucked if it could. I had no cover; my partner downed by enemy fire as we landed, instantly beyond any help that medipak would have offered. I gasped horrified at what I could now see, and the sound gave me away. Sharp, pointed teeth in a gaping maw. "Base to command, this is Whitlock. Lost Masen to gunfire. Beam me the fuck up, will you?"

It turned at my words. I'm so screwed.


	7. Word prompt: Crimson

Drabble as prompted by **Loves2Blame **on Twitter

**Word**: crimson

I'll never forget the way she looked against my sheets. Dark hair brushing against naked shoulders, pale skin glistening with dew from our past hours exertions, plump lips from pressing against mine; she was sheer perfection against my silken sheets. Never again will she be there. Never again will I have those sheets upon my bed for they remind me of her. Crimson. Like the blood that ran in rivulets from the bloody gash upon her chest after he killed her. Jacob. Black in name. Black in heart. All because he couldn't have her. Because she was mine. My Isabella.


End file.
